


Sous Vide

by merle_p



Category: Burnt (2015)
Genre: First Time, Friendship, Getting Together, M/M, Miscommunication, Moving On, Post-Canon, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21600442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: And it’s a great party, no question about that. The food is amazing, the wine exquisite, the music live, and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. Everyone but the host himself who’s been hiding in a corner behind a very large glass of red wine ever since he made his heartfelt toast to the bride and groom.“Jesus Christ,” Reece swears, shaking his head at him. “We really need to get you out of here.”Without warning he takes hold of Tony’s elbow, pulling him up from his seat with surprisingly little effort. Or maybe not so surprising. Tony is well aware that professional chefs usually come equipped with impressive upper-body strength.“Wait,” he says hastily, somewhere between sitting and standing. His wine glass is still half full.“Oh don’t worry,” Reece snorts. “We are taking the bottle.”
Relationships: Adam Jones/Helene Sweeney, Tony Balerdi & Adam Jones, Tony Balerdi/Montgomery Reece
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Sous Vide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geri_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geri_chan/gifts).



> Geri_chan, thank you so much for getting me hooked on this pairing, and giving me such excellent prompts and likes to work with! These two are my favorite characters in the movie, and so I loved getting to help them find a bit of happiness with each other. It was a pleasure to write for you, I hope you enjoy your gift!

“I have always wondered whether you actually like torturing yourself,” a familiar voice says, close to his right ear. 

Tony looks up. Reese is standing next to his table, looking sharp in his slim black suit. He’s got his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes narrow as his gaze is fixed on the happy couple across the room. 

“I suppose I’ve got my answer.”

Tony turns his head again to follow Reece’s line of sight, just in time to see Adam lean over and whisper something in Helene’s ear that makes her laugh. 

He clears his throat. “You came.” 

Reece raises his brows. “Of course I did,” he says dryly. “Wasn’t going to miss my chance at witnessing the moment that marks the beginning of the end.” 

Tony blinks, taken off guard. “What do you mean?”

“They won’t last, you know that, right?” Reece doesn’t even sound particularly malicious about it, just like he is stating a fact.

Tony shakes his head ruefully. “Maybe,” he says. 

He is trying not to make predictions anymore as far as Adam Jones is concerned. 

Adam officially accepted his third star in October at Michelin’s Great Britain and Ireland Stars Award Ceremony. The celebratory mood carried them all through November on a wave of camaraderie and confidence. In late December, Tony’s father’s health took a turn for the worse. One month later, Adam mentioned in between two different samples of crème brûlée that he and Helene were planning to get hitched. 

Tony didn’t tell him what he wanted to say: didn’t tell him to end it before things went too far, before everything got messy, before Adam ended up flushing another woman’s future and a perfectly good restaurant down the drain. 

Instead, Tony offered to throw them a party, because that seemed like the right thing to do. 

And it’s a great party, no question about that. The food is amazing, the wine exquisite, the music live, and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. 

Everyone but the host himself who’s been hiding in a corner behind a very large glass of red wine ever since he made his heartfelt toast to the bride and groom. 

“Jesus Christ,” Reece swears, shaking his head at him. “We really need to get you out of here.” 

Without warning he takes hold of Tony’s elbow, pulling him up from his seat with surprisingly little effort. Or maybe not so surprising. Tony is well aware that professional chefs usually come equipped with impressive upper-body strength. 

“Wait,” he says hastily, somewhere between sitting and standing. His wine glass is still half full. 

“Oh don’t worry,” Reece snorts. “We are taking the bottle.” 

They end up in the back alley behind the restaurant, on the steps to the back entrance of the neighboring building, passing the bottle back and forth between them. 

The wine is excellent, of course, a Chateau Pavie that goes for four-, five hundred per bottle and should really be served in a Bordeaux glass at precisely 15.5 degrees Celsius. 

Right now, Tony thinks he might prefer it from the bottle, roughly 5 degrees too warm. Reece doesn’t entirely seem to disagree. 

“Good stuff,” he says as he hands over the bottle, not bothering to wipe off the rim. 

“It’s one of my father’s favorites,” Tony says, then kind of wishes he had kept quiet. 

He drinks more wine and pretends not to notice Reece staring at his profile. 

“I am sorry,” Reece finally offers. 

“What are you sorry for?” Tony asks. 

Reece shrugs. “Mostly your father.” 

“Yeah,” Tony says quietly.

Reece shakes his head. “I am not sorry that you are narrowly escaping the honor of being on the list of people getting fucked by Adam Jones.” He chuckles. “I yet have to meet a single one who hasn’t regretted it later.” 

He holds his hand out for the bottle. 

“I _am_ sorry that you are probably going to lose your restaurant once Helene finally gets to that stage. As much as it pains me to admit it, you guys have got a good thing going here.”

“I am pretty much over it, you know,” Tony says, and to his own ears, his voice almost sounds like he means it.

“Then why are you brooding?” Reece asks, seeming honestly curious. 

Tony shivers a little. The damp cold of the English winter is creeping into his clothes. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe because I wasted all this time waiting for something I knew wasn’t going to happen. Even when I thought he might be dead, I was still waiting somehow. Seems a little pathetic now, looking back at it.”

“Hm,” Reece hums vaguely, the sound vibrating against the mouth of the wine bottle as he tips back his head to drink. 

“Why are you being nice?” Tony blurts out, because the question is bothering him, and because he’s just drunk enough that his usually solid verbal filter has become a little porous. 

“Do I need a reason?” Reece counters, sounding mildly put out.

Tony huffs. “Kind of, yes.”

Reece stares ahead into the dark alley. “You didn’t need one to cook for me when my sister was in that car accident in ‘01.” 

Tony laughs, half incredulous, half embarrassed. “That was fifteen years ago. Christ, you still remember that? I even overcooked the pasta.”

Reece shrugs, unbothered. “It was a kind thing to do.” He fishes a pack of Marlboros from a pocket in his suit jacket and slides a cigarette out with smooth, practiced motions. 

“I can’t believe you still smoke,” Tony says. 

Reece grins, his teeth a gleaming bright white in the darkness. “You want one?”

Tony doesn’t say no, which apparently is answer enough for Reece. He hands over his lit cigarette, then pulls out another one for himself. 

Tony inhales too deeply on the first drag and washes down his cough reflex with another swish of wine. 

“You alright there, Tony?” Reece asks, amused, and Tony nods and hands him the bottle. 

“Yes, I am alright,” he says, and to his surprise finds that it is not a lie. 

It’s two weeks until he sees Reece again. Tony has visitors in town – old family friends from Switzerland, in London to see his father (“before it’s too late” is heavily implied, although no one dares to actually say it out loud) and to discuss the possibility of a business collaboration. 

The Nussbaumers are in London for a week, and after three days get bored with the cuisine at the hotel. Uli suggests _Reece’s_ and Tony can’t think of a good reason to say no. It _is_ one of the top five restaurants in Great Britain, and somehow he doubts that saying “Their chef and my chef are arch nemeses, and I am pretty sure Reece hates me too by association but he also got me drunk in a back alley two weeks ago and convinced me to smoke my first cigarette in ten years” will come across quite the right way. 

So he accompanies them to lunch on Thursday, and by the time they sit down to eat he feels mildly embarrassed for being nervous. By the time the server brings out the main dishes, he can’t quite remember why he was nervous in the first place. 

What he does suddenly remember, with a spark of surprised recognition, is how much he’s always liked Reece’s food.

Tony has gotten used to Adam’s style of cooking, all passion and repressed anger expressed through unexpected bursts of spice and herbs, and to Helene’s influence of treating every dish like it’s meant to be comfort food. It’s not personal bias that has him revere the unique extravagance of their culinary collaboration – after all, he’s got it in print that the Michelin people agree with him. 

Reece’s food, on the other hand, is all the things Helene and Adam’s cooking is not: composed and restrained, minimalist in its combination of flavors, and yet, so, so far from being boring. 

He doesn’t even realize that he’s closed his eyes until he hears Uli chuckle fondly. 

“Good?” the man smiles, unapologetically running a finger along the rim of his own plate to catch a last drop of sauce.

“Very,” Tony admits, and sets his fork down with a content sigh. 

“Please give our compliments to the chef,” Marie says when the server comes with the check.

“You can tell Reece the _coquilles_ were spectacular,” Tony adds, because he’s not one to withhold praise when it’s deserved. 

The waiter nods smoothly, not showing any sign of recognition, but Tony is not entirely surprised when Reece himself walks out of the kitchen a couple of minutes later. Marie’s eyes light up at the small tray of macarons he sets down on the table with flourish. 

“You should have let me know you were coming, Tony,” Reece says, although he doesn’t sound particularly put out. 

Tony shrugs, suddenly feeling awkward again. “I know how busy the lunch rush can be.”

The Nussbaumers look back and forth between them with curiosity.

“You didn’t tell us you were friends with Montgomery Reece, Tony,” Marie reprimands him mildly. 

Reece’s smile is polite. “Tony and I go way back,” he says smoothly. “What brings you to town?”

“Visiting old friends and talking business,” Uli replies. “We’ve been trying to lure Tony to Zurich, without much success so far, I am afraid.”

“Oh yeah?” The look Reece gives him is hard to read. 

“It’s all hypothetical,” Tony says uncomfortably, not sure why he suddenly feels the urge to apologize to the competition for entertaining thoughts of leaving London behind. 

He looks away from Reece’s too perceptive eyes and reaches for one of the macarons instead. It’s devastatingly delicious. 

Not that he expected anything else. 

“Are you available for lunch today?” 

“Uhh …” Tony makes, cell phone tucked between shoulder and chin as he fumbles for his left sock. He glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand: It’s just past 10am. He figures he can leave the house in ten if there’s an actual emergency. 

“Did something happen?” 

“Nothing happened. I am just asking if you are free for lunch.” 

Reece’s voice is clipped, business-like, entirely devoid of anger or frustration. 

Still. The unexpected phone call is irregular enough to set off several of Tony’s alarms. 

“Sure,” he says slowly, and pulls the sock past his ankle. “Where would you like to meet?”

“I’ll come pick you up at half past eleven,” Reece says promptly. 

Tony frowns. “What do you mean you’ll pick me up?”

“We are taking the car,” Reece replies, as if that actually explains anything. 

“You do know that we live in London, don’t you?” Tony asks. 

“Trust me,” Reece replies, infuriatingly, and hangs up on him. 

Tony spends a good twenty minutes staring at the wall and running through a list of potential fires he might be required to put out. What could have possibly happened in the week since he took his friends to lunch at _Reece’s_? Did Adam set free a swarm of roaches in their kitchen after word got out that Prince William took his wife to dinner there the other night? Did Max get into a fight with one of Reece’s cooks? Did Adam _sleep_ with one of Reece’s cooks? Did _Helene_ sleep with one of Reece’s cooks? Did _Reece_ sleep with Helene? 

Tony rubs his forehead tiredly. So much for not having to think about work on his day off. He stares at the pair of jeans he’s laid out on the bed, then sighs and heads for the closet. If he’s going to have a professional conversation, he’s going to wear a suit. 

He regrets his decision as soon as Reece pulls up on the curb. The chef is wearing a soft-looking crème turtleneck with a black blazer and dark jeans, managing to look elegant and casual at once. Tony suddenly feels stiff and overdressed as he climbs awkwardly into the passenger seat.

“So what is it that you needed to talk to me about?” he asks, once Reece is moving with the traffic.

Reece throws him a quick look. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he says casually. “I just thought you might benefit from someone taking you to lunch.”

Tony blinks. He has no idea what to do with that. 

“Are you doing this because you pity me or because you want to use me to get back at Adam?”

Reece’s face does a complicated thing, as if he’s about to be offended at the insinuation and then chooses not to be. 

“Somehow I don’t remember you being quite this distrustful,” he says instead. 

“Well, yeah,” Tony says. “That was before … let’s see … my best friend ruined my professional life, and I got to drive his pregnant ex-girlfriend to the clinic and hold her hand while getting judgmental stares from the nurses who thought I was the father. Also, before Michel threatened to break my arm if I didn’t tell him where Adam was, at a point when I was pretty sure that Adam was a rotting corpse at the bottom of the Seine, so it’s not like I had any useful information for him. And oh yes, before I had to find Max a lawyer willing to explain to the judge why cutting someone’s nose off should be considered a reasonable response to the improper handling of a fucking dead fish.”

Reece stares at him for a long moment before turning his eyes back onto the road. 

“If you put it like that, I am impressed you actually got in the car with me.”

“I thought about it,” Tony shrugs. “But I came to the conclusion that you didn’t have much to gain from kidnapping me, so I figured it was a reasonable risk to take.”

Reece’s laugh is sharp, a surprised quick burst of mirth. “You’ll be happy to hear that I didn’t entertain any kidnapping plans, no.” 

He takes a breath. “Truth is, I found this farm restaurant just off the M40 and I am dying to go back, but eating alone is just not that much fun.”

“And I was the person you chose to bring along?” Tony asks doubtfully.

Reece shrugs. “Why not?” he asks, as if this is something they do all the time. “It’s Thursday. It’s your day off.”

Reece’s farm restaurant turns out to be a hidden gem tucked away behind a line of trees just off the main road. It is the opposite of flashy – the interior is simple but cozy, the waitstaff is moving at a moderate pace, the food is straight-forward but delicious and surprisingly affordable for the quality. It’s the kind of eatery that reminds Tony of places he’s never really found anywhere outside of Alsace and the Austrian countryside, and it makes feel him a little homesick for the European continent. 

When he tells Reece as much, the other man smiles between bites of chevon.

“I thought you might like it,” he says, sounding rather pleased with himself. 

Tony nods, impressed against his will. “They should be a contender for the Bib Gourmand,” he says, spearing another mushroom dumpling with his fork. 

“Absolutely,” Reece agrees, “but I am pretty sure they are trying to avoid that kind of publicity.” He picks up his napkin to dab at his lips. 

“So what is this story about you going to Zurich?”

“Oh,” Tony makes a dismissive gesture. “They have been trying to talk me into going to Switzerland for a long time. Want me to run their hotel chain for them. They think London is passé, and I should get out while I am on top.”

“And you are considering it?” Reece asks, his voice deceptively light. 

“They are not entirely wrong, you know,” Tony answers, looking down at his plate. “If things continue down this path, London will be over by 2020. Berlin’s a lot more exciting these days, but the city is broke and probably always will be. Zurich is where the money is.”

“Well,” Reece says and takes a sip of his water. “Good luck convincing Adam to go to Switzerland. I vaguely remember him saying that Zurich was full of rich pretentious jerks.”

Tony chuckles. “I mean, he’s not entirely wrong about that either. But no. If I went to Zurich, it wouldn’t be with Adam.”

Reece glances at him over the rim of his glass. “Reaaaally.” 

Tony sniffs. “I know it may not seem like it, but we are not actually joined at the hip.”

“Yes,” Reece says thoughtfully. “I am starting to realize that.”

Tony expects Reece to drop him off outside his building where he picked him up, but instead he finds a spot in the Controlled Parking Zone around the corner and then actually walks Tony all the way to his front door. 

“Thank you for lunch,” Tony finally tells him, when Reece makes no move to head back to his car. 

“It was nice.” 

Reece tilts his head and looks at him, his features schooled in familiar cool arrogance, although his eyes are weirdly bashful.

“Are you not going to invite me in?” 

Tony stares. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to process what Reece is saying. 

“I didn’t know today was supposed to be a date,” is what he finally gets out, inanely. 

Reese smiles a little, as if he expected nothing less of him. 

“So now that you know, does that change your answer?”

Tony feels a rush of heat creep up his cheeks. He looks away. 

“I only got coffee and red wine in the kitchen,” he says, helplessly. 

Reece’s laugh is fond. “Luckily,” he says, “I am not here for the drinks.”

Tony doesn’t quite know what he’s expecting as he walks up the stairs, intensely aware of Reece’s presence behind him. Getting pushed to his knees the moment the door closes behind them, perhaps. A quick, rough fuck against the kitchen wall. 

What he gets is Reece’s mouth on his as soon as they set foot inside the hallway, Reece’s hands on his back, tugging on his stupid ironed dress shirt until it slips free, then Reece’s palm on his bare skin, still cold but quickly warming against the curve of his lower back. 

Tony permits himself to reach up in response, runs his fingers over the nape of Reece’s neck, gently digs his nails into the close-cropped curls, eliciting a growl that he can feel vibrating against his lips. 

“Bedroom?” Reece asks eventually, his breath tickling Tony’s neck, his hands still roaming Tony’s back. 

“Hm?” Tony asks, distracted, as he traces Reece’s clavicle with his thumb. 

“Bedroom,” Reece says again, a little impatiently this time, and now what he is saying is starting to sink in. Tony swallows. 

Reece smiles in return. 

“I am not going to fuck you here in the hallway,” he says, and Tony can’t find a reason to argue with that.

Afterwards, they sit in bed side by side, shoulders comfortably pressed together. 

“You mind if I smoke in here?” Reece asks, already reaching for his cigarettes.

Tony thinks he should probably object on principle, but right now he’s feeling too relaxed to pretend like he cares. 

“At least let me open the window,” he says, and hoists himself out of bed. He throws the window open wide and inhales the cool February air before turning around to find Reece staring at him. 

“What,” he says, self-conscious. 

“Nothing,” Reece smiles, and takes a drag on his cigarette. “Just looking.”

“Uhm,” Tony says, and resists the urge to cover his genitals with his hands. “Would you like some coffee?” 

“God, yes, thank you,” Reece says. 

Tony takes the agreement as an excuse to slip into a pair of boxers on his way to the kitchen. When he returns with two cups of black coffee, he finds that Reece has already appropriated a forgotten water glass to serve as ashtray. 

“Here,” Tony says, holding out the coffee like a shield. 

Reece stubs out the cigarette and reaches for the cup. Then he extends his other arm, giving Tony no other choice but to crawl back into bed and slip into the space created for him while trying not to spill his own coffee on the sheets. 

Eventually Reece sets his empty cup onto the nightstand next to the makeshift ashtray. “I should leave,” he says, although he’s not making any move to get up otherwise. 

“Okay,” Tony says too quickly, staring down at his own cup. 

Reece tilts his head and looks at him from the side. 

“No,” he says slowly. “I meant, I really need to get to work.”

Tony whips his head around in shock. “You are working tonight and you are still here? What are you doing, you need to get dressed!”

Reece laughs, genuinely amused. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Jack knows not to expect me until five. But I appreciate your concern.”

He presses a sloppy kiss into the curve of Tony’s neck and pushes back the covers. 

“Let’s do this again soon, yeah?”

“Uh,” Tony says and watches Reece pull a white undershirt over his head. 

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

The bed feels too cold already.

“Sure.”

“Hey,” Adam says, propping his hip against the table next to Tony’s elbow. 

“Hello,” Tony replies, keeping his eyes on the wine he’s in the process of decanting. When he finally sets down the empty bottle, Adam picks it up curiously. 

“New supplier?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, a little distractedly. “The company is in Brittany, but they have a delivery sent through the tunnel twice a month. We need a broader range of wines to go with some of your new creations, and they work with some interesting wineries in France … I figured it was worth a try.”

On a whim, he grabs a tasting glass from the shelf and pours himself some wine from the decanter. Predictably, it is far too cold and tastes flat, but Tony has no doubt that properly aerated, it will be excellent. 

“Has it even had time to breathe?” Adam asks, surprised.

Tony shrugs, a little embarrassed. “Not really,” he says, feeling caught out. “I just felt like it.”

Adam raises his brows. “That’s a first,” he says, sounding almost impressed. “How was your day off?”

Tony hides his face behind the glass. 

“It was fine,” he says. “Nothing special. Had a nice lunch. Talked to my father. Got some sleep.”

“So not planning to run away to Zurich yet?” Adam asks, and Tony stares up at him in surprise. 

Adam shrugs with demonstrative nonchalance. 

“I figured the Nussbaumers weren’t just here to talk to your dad.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You know how they are,” he says. “They’ve been talking about that since before you went away.”

“But what would you do in Zurich?” Adam asks, a little indignantly. “The city is full of rich pretentious jerks.”

Tony laughs. “That’s what –“ He stops abruptly. 

“That’s what what?” Adam asks curiously. Tony shakes his head.

“Never mind,” he says. “Don’t worry, I am not ready to abandon you to your fate just yet.” 

“Glad to hear it, bro,” Adam says lightly, and actually reaches out to tousle his hair. 

Tony mock-glowers and swats at Adam’s hand. “Don’t call me that,” he complains, and wonders whether his voice sounds as guilty as he feels. 

The line for Sunday’s lunch reaches past the door and down the sidewalk, and Tony’s cell phone is ringing again. He silently curses whoever is trying to wrangle a reservation by hunting down his private number this time. He would let it go to voicemail, except he cannot risk missing a call with news about his father, so he picks up every single time.

“Yes,” he bites out as he puts the phone to his cheek, walking away from the crowd to create an illusion of privacy.

“Uh-oh,” a familiar voice says in his ear. “Remind me to never call you at work again.”

“Oh,” Tony says, dumbfounded. “I am sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Kaitlin shoots him a curious look. He smiles tightly and waves at her to take over for him at the front desk before stepping into the shadow of the staircase. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. He feels a little out of breath, although he doesn’t quite know why. 

“Everything is fine,” Reece says. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Oh,” Tony says again, and contemplates banging his head against the wall. “Hi.”

“Hi.” There’s definitely laughter in Reece’s voice now, though he hides it well. “Are you closing up tonight?”

“I am,” Tony says, confused at the non sequitur. 

“So you won’t be done until two or so?”

“Half past one, usually,” Tony corrects automatically, still not sure where this is going. 

“Why don’t you come over when you are finished,” Reece says easily, as if he’s suggesting nothing more egregious than having an extra slice of bacon with his toast. 

“I’ll make you soup.”

Tony frowns. “At two in the morning?”

“Are you planning to eat a proper dinner before then?” Reece asks, making it sound rhetorical. 

Tony chuckles. “Probably not.”

“So come over,” Reece says. “I assume you know where I live.”

“I do,” Tony admits. There are agitated voices in the background, coming from the direction of the lobby. 

“I have to go,” he says quickly. “I think Kaitlin’s got a difficult one.”

“Sure,” Reece says, “go take care of your hotel. I’ll see you tonight.”

The call disconnects, and it occurs to Tony that he never actually said that he was coming. He sighs and pockets his phone before heading to the front to face the wolves. 

Whom is he kidding, of course he is. 

His sense of self-preservation has never been very strong.

Tony wakes to the smell of coffee and a hand in his hair. He curls into the touch with his eyes closed and tries to remember whose place they ended up at last night.

“I think I am in love with your coffee maker,” Reece says. 

His own bed, then, this time. Tony heaves himself into a seated position and reaches blindly for the offered cup. 

“And here I thought you were a purist looking down on anyone who doesn’t use a French press.” 

“Well, yes,” Reece says and sits down on the edge of the bed with his own cup. “That’s because most people don’t have an _Elektra_. Should I ask how much you paid for that thing?”

Tony grimaces. “Better not. What time is it?”

“Six thirty,” Reece says mournfully. “But I have to run. We are getting two special deliveries for the Easter weekend, and I need to make sure they actually sent the lamb we requested. Don’t ask what happened last year, but I may have made the delivery people cry. We are still on for tomorrow?”

Tony scrunches up his face. “I need to go see my dad,” he says apologetically. “I’m sorry. He was sleeping when I tried to visit him Monday, and I don’t want to go a full week without talking to him.”

“Of course,” Reece nods. He doesn’t look particularly disappointed, and Tony feels ridiculous for wishing that he did. 

“He’s at Leah Lodge, yeah?” 

“In Blackheath, yes,” Tony nods and takes another sip of his coffee. Somehow it always tastes better when Reece makes it, though he hasn’t yet been able to figure out what he actually does different. 

“I’ve been there before,” Reece says and finishes his cup. “Their café isn’t terrible. I can bring my laptop and write emails until you are done.”

Tony frowns. His brain is still waking up. 

“You …” He tilts his head. “Are you saying … you … what?”

Reece looks at him as if he’s the one who isn’t making sense. “I’m suggesting that I can wait for you until you are done visiting.” He pauses and narrows his eyes. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“What? No!” Tony scrambles, “no, that’s … isn’t that going to be boring?”

“What?” Reece smirks. “Watching senior citizens eat Black Forest gâteau and turning down television interview offers? What could possibly be more exciting?” He sets his empty cup down and looks at Tony from the side. “But if you are asking whether I mind waiting for you, the answer is no.”

“Oh,” Tony says, and then realizes that he has no idea how to continue. “Okay then.”

Reece smiles a little. “Okay. Good.”

“Good,” Tony repeats, and wonders what the hell just happened here. 

“You busy?” Adam asks, pushing the glass door to the office open with his elbow, juggling a sampling bowl in each hand.

“Hm?” Tony asks, looking up from his stack of receipts. 

“Need you to try this for us.”

“Oh, dessert?” he smiles and reaches for the bowl in Adam’s right hand. “Anytime.”

“Wait, I’ll get you a spoon,” Adam says, but Tony waves him off and simply sticks a finger into the mousse.

“This is excellent,” he says appreciatively. “Clementine?”

“Tangerine,” Adam nods. “And white chocolate.” 

He holds out the second cup. “Try this one now.”

“What’s different about it?” Tony asks curiously. 

“More sugar, less egg white, different spices,” Adam answers. 

“Uhm,” Tony says after licking his finger clean. “This might be my new favorite. Nice work.” 

Adam throws him a suspicious look. 

“What is going on with you?”

Tony frowns and looks down at himself just to make sure he didn’t forget to put on a tie this morning. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been strangely …”, Adam gestures a little helplessly, “… chipper lately.” 

“Chipper?” Tony snorts. “I don’t think I’ve been chipper a single day in my entire life.”

“Exactly!” Adam exclaims and throws up his hands. “Which is why I find this development disconcerting.” He turns his head and calls back into the kitchen. 

“Honey?”

“Yes?” Helene asks, appearing in the doorframe with a teaspoon in her hand. 

“Don’t you think Tony has been unusually cheerful recently?”

She raises her brows. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

 _Thank you,_ Tony mouths at her over Adam’s shoulder. 

“No, no, nothing wrong,” Adam shakes his head. “It’s just … different.”

Tony shrugs, feeling flustered under the weight of Adam’s scrutinizing gaze. 

“So what?” he asks. “The hotel is booked through August, the restaurant is going great – got another rave review in the _Times_ , by the way, and the new _Blue Guide London_ is praising us too. Why should I not be cheerful?”

Adam opens his mouth, and Tony cringes inwardly. Neither of the reasons he knows are likely to be on Adam’s mind are things he wants to talk about. 

In the end, though, Adam merely shrugs and pats his shoulder. “Never mind. You just keep enjoying your chipper … ness. Chippery. Chipfulness.” 

“I’m not a native speaker,” Tony says pointedly, “but I don’t think those are actual words.”

“They are now,” Adam grins. He reaches out to slide the spoon free from underneath Helene’s fingers and drops it on Tony’s desk. 

“Just make sure you finish those desserts.”

“I think Adam suspects something,” Tony says later that night, as he’s carrying their empty plates to the sink. He turns around and leans against the kitchen counter, arms folded in front of his chest. 

“What do you mean?” Reece asks, blinking up at him tiredly. It’s far too late for either of them to be awake, but Reece came over after his shift with offerings of marinated goat cheese and strawberry-basil mousse, and they got a little side-tracked eating the food from each other’s fingers. 

Tony shrugs. “He says I always seem to be in a good mood lately.”

Reece raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like I’m doing something right.”

“That’s not the point,” Tony huffs. 

“What _is_ the point?” Reece asks, a little more sharply, sitting up straight in his chair. He is looking a lot more awake now, and Tony already misses the sleepy softness smoothing out the lines of his face. 

He looks away. “It’s just that we have been doing really well recently.” He clears his throat. “ _Adam_ has been doing really well. I don’t want things to get awkward between us again.”

“Awkward,” Reece says flatly. “I thought you said you were over him.”

“I am,” Tony hurries to confirm, “of course I am. That’s not what this is about.”

“Is it not?” Reece asks. “Then why are you so worried about what he’ll say?”

Tony sighs, frustrated. “Come on,” he says. “You know what he can be like.”

“Yes,” Reece answers, and there is real anger simmering in his voice now. “I know what he can be like. My question is, why do you care?”

Tony throws up his hands. “Because we work together, and it’s hell if people aren’t getting along. Can’t believe I need to explain this to you.”

“That’s all?” Reece asks. “I don’t see why your private life is any of his business.”

“Jesus,” Tony snaps. “Because you two have been getting off on riling each other up like two pubescent boys in the locker room for years, and I keep getting caught in the middle.” He shakes his head. 

“And you are just as bad about it as he is.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Reece asks icily. “Someone who reminds you of him?”

“You are crazy,” Tony says. He feels a little sick.

“Crazy to think this could work, apparently,” Reece replies, and just like that he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Tony sinks down into the nearest chair and wills himself not to cry. It’s not like he had any illusions that this thing with Reece was meant to last. He’s had front row seats to enough kitchen relationship drama to know that a star chef’s dalliances rarely do. 

He just didn’t think it would end tonight, with the taste of basil and cigarettes still on his lips. 

There’s a knock on the door. Timid at first, then more insistent. He tiredly rubs his face and wonders if it’s the downstairs neighbor checking to make sure he is still alive. Tony isn’t exactly known in the building for having screaming matches with his lovers in the middle of the night. 

He briefly considers ignoring the sound, then forces himself to get up, if only because the last thing he wants right now is for someone to call the police. 

He opens the door. It’s not the neighbor. 

“Hi,” Reece says sheepishly, hands in the pockets of his pants. 

“You are back,” Tony says blankly. 

Reece smiles wryly. “I left my jacket with my house keys,” he admits. “And also, I wanted to apologize for acting like a prick.”

Tony drags a hand over his face, then steps to the side to let Reece in. 

“Come to think of it,” he says, “you and Adam are nothing alike. He would have stubbornly stuck it out and spent the night on a park bench just to spite his date.” 

Reece chuckles, then sobers quickly. “I _am_ sorry,” he says, sounding a little forlorn. “Clearly you are not the only one who needs to get over certain things.”

“Welcome to the club,” Tony says dryly, and then, more quietly: “Stay?” 

Reece visibly relaxes. “I’m pretty sure I am too tired to do anything but sleep,” he warns. 

Tony smiles and reaches for his hand. “Sleep sounds perfect, actually.”

“Hey,” Reece says into his shoulder a little later. His voice sounds like he is in the process of dozing off. “Does Conti live in your neighborhood?”

“Hmm,” Tony hums, not bothering to open his eyes. “Yes, he lives two streets down. Beautiful place. Why do you ask?”

“I thought I saw him pass by in a cab just now when I was outside,” Reece mumbles. “That’s all.”

“Hm,” Tony replies, and tries to remember whether this is something he is supposed to worry about. But he falls asleep before he can figure it out.

“What the fuck?” Adam hisses. Tony speeds up his pace to get out of the kitchen before more people start paying attention to them, but Adam grabs Tony by the elbow and spins him around before he can get away. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

The kitchen staff is scurrying around them like a swarm of anxious mice, studiously avoiding his gaze. 

Tony swallows thickly. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he says, staring past Adam at the bare wall. 

“Don’t play stupid,” Adam says angrily, gesturing towards his chest, which would be somewhat less terrifying if he wasn’t holding a paring knife. 

“Conti saw him at your place. At two in the morning.”

“Put the knife down, Adam,” Tony says slowly. 

Adam stares at the knife as if he didn't even realize he was holding it, then angrily throws it onto the counter. It skitters across the smooth surface and flies off onto the ground. On the other side of the counter, David jumps to the side, pale-faced. 

If anyone in the room hadn’t been paying attention before, this certainly did the trick. 

“Adam, Tony …” Helene says cautiously, walking towards them with her hands up, like a dog owner trying to separate her fighting pets. 

“What the hell is wrong with you, Tony?” Adam asks. “Reece?”

“You have no right to be angry about this,” Tony snaps, because why not get it all out there, just in case anyone in this kitchen still has doubts about what is going on. 

“Did you really think I was going to be in love with you for the rest of my life?”

Adam stares at him incredulously. 

“So this is you getting back at me for not being into guys?”

Tony crosses his arms in front of his chest so no one can see how much his hands are shaking. “Not everything revolves around you, you know,” he says coldly. 

Adam throws up his hands. “There’s more than eight million people in this city,” he says. “You could have fucked literally anyone else in this goddamn city. Anyone other than Reece.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “This may come as a shock to you, but unlike you I don’t want to fuck eight million people.”

It’s a cruel thing to say, with Helene standing right there next to them, and he regrets it at once – but he cannot deny the satisfaction he feels at seeing the real hurt in Adam’s eyes. 

“He’s using you, you know that, right?” Adam says angrily. “He’s trying to undermine you. This is how we operate.”

Tony freezes, his heart hammering in his chest. “And so what if he is,” he forces himself to say. “Why do you care?”

“Because you are my friend,” Adam shouts. “And because this is my restaurant, and we worked hard for it. I am not going to let it fail because you can’t keep business and pleasure apart.”

“You mean, like you did when you married your sous-chef?” Tony shoots back. “And last time I checked, this was still _my_ restaurant.”

Adam reels back as if he’s been slapped. “I need to get out of here.”

Tony takes a shaky breath. “That’s not a bad idea. I am sure Helene can handle it for the rest of the night.” He looks at her, his gaze challenging. 

“Can you?”

Helene hesitates for a second, then nods resolutely. “Yes, boss.”

“Fuck,” Adam says. He looks around wildly. One of the kitchen aids hurries to shift a stack of plates out of his reach. 

But Adam doesn’t throw anything. Instead, his shoulders slump. He shoots Tony one more look, furious or pleading, Tony isn’t sure, then he’s gone. 

In the wake of his exit, the kitchen is dead silent. 

“Alright, you heard the boss,” Helene finally says, rubbing her palms on her apron. “Let’s get to work. We have people to feed.”

“Yes, chef,” David responds and turns back towards the stove. That seems to spur the others into action, probably grateful to direct their attention at anything other than the train wreck they just witnessed.

To his horror, Tony feels his eyes burn. He rubs a hand over his face and turns away. The last thing he needs is for the kitchen crew to see him cry. 

Kaitlin finds him behind the building, propped up against the wall, hands on his knees, willing himself not to throw up. 

“Is everything okay, boss?” she asks, concern in her voice. “The others said …”

“Do you have a cigarette?” he interrupts, and she looks at him as if he’s asked for a cyanide pill. 

“A cigarette?”

“Yes,” he nods, a little desperately. “Do you have one?”

“No,” she says slowly. “But I’ll find one for you.”

He nods and stares back down at his knees. When he looks up again, Max is leaning next to him against the wall, watching him with steady eyes. 

“ _Quoi_?” Tony snaps. 

Max raises his brows. “You really should be nicer to the guy bringing you cigarettes.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Says you, the guy who comes at people with a knife for looking at a fish the wrong way.”

Max actually laughs. “Touché.” He holds out a package of Gauloises. “You want one or not?”

They lean next to each other against the wall and smoke in silence until Tony’s hands don’t tremble anymore.

Max gives him a contemplative look. 

“Did you sleep with Reece to annoy Adam?”

Tony opens his mouth, then pauses. “No,” he finally says.

Max nods.

“You know Reece has always had a bit of a thing for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tony huffs and doesn’t look Max in the eye. “Didn’t you hear Adam? Apparently he’s just taking advantage of me.”

Max shrugs. “Believe what you want. He thought you were cute, anyway. But everyone with one working eye could see that you were hung up on Adam, so he didn’t think he had much of a chance.” 

Tony shakes his head. “Why would Reece possibly have been interested in me back then?” 

“For the same reasons he’s interested now?” Max raises his brows. “Falling for Adam really did a number on your self-esteem, huh.”

Tony frowns, skeptically. “I just don’t see how you would even know what he used to think about me.”

Max smirks. “You do remember that I used to get drunk with this guy five nights out of seven for years? Believe me, going into detail about what he wanted to do to _ton joli petit cul_ was one of the more harmless things we discussed.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Tony says, without much heat. He’s too exhausted right now to engage with the information Max is handing him.

“Tell me one thing, though?” Max grins slyly, apparently not bothered much by Tony’s gloomy mood. 

“What,” he asks apprehensively. 

Max tilts his head. “Does he let you call him by his first name?”

His own laughter takes him by surprise. Max is good, he’s got to give him that. 

“I don’t think anyone’s called him Montgomery since his grandmother died,” he says truthfully. 

Max looks up at him from underneath hooded eyes. “So you don’t call him Monty?”

Tony chuckles dryly and drops the rest of his cigarette on the ground. “Don’t let him hear you say that, or going back to jail will be the least of your worries.” 

“Uh, low blow,” Max says cheerfully, and holds the door open for him. 

When Tony opens his eyes the next morning, he spends a long time staring at the ceiling and wondering if it’s worth getting up at all. It’s a Thursday, which is just as well, because at least he doesn’t need to look any of his employees in the eye for the time being. 

Reece usually calls to check in around ten, so at 9:30am he finally drags himself into the kitchen to make coffee. He chooses the largest mug and the most comfortable chair and settles in to wait. 

When ten passes without a call, Tony is not really surprised. 

He opens the fridge, but the only edible items are leftovers from _Reece’s_ , so he closes the door again with a sigh. The gastronomy grapevine is highly efficient, and Reece probably knew what happened by the time they stopped serving the previous night. 

So he has either decided that Tony’s attachment to Adam is more trouble than it is worth, after all. 

Or Adam was right and getting them to fight was really all the past few months have been about. 

In one of the cabinets, he finds an open box of stale Weetabix left over from when his cousin came to visit last year with her kids. It’s revoltingly dry, but he brings it with his coffee to the kitchen table and pulls his tablet closer. He takes a bite of the Weetabix as punishment for his gullibility, washes it down with black coffee, and then types Zurich into the browser search bar.

He looks up the current exhibitions at the art museum, and skims over the restaurant recommendations on the Michelin website. He manages to look at two real estate sites, trying not to cringe at the listed prices. 

Then he pushes the tablet away and puts his head on the table.

The elderly lady from downstairs knocks on his door in the late afternoon.

“Your nice young man has been standing on the pavement outside for about an hour now, dear,” she says mildly. “I wouldn’t mind, but it reminds my husband of the 1980s when we were on an MI5 watchlist for a bit.”

“I’m sorry?” Tony blinks. He feels a little disoriented.

“Never mind, love,” she waves off his confusion. “If you could just tell him to come inside, that would be wonderful.”

Sure enough, when Tony slides up the bedroom window, Reece is leaning against the black iron railing separating the property from the street. He does look a little like a spy with his cigarette and his trench coat, collar turned up as if it isn’t already mid-May.

“You should come up,” Tony says loudly. “My neighbors are getting nervous.”

Reece jumps a little, then stares up at him with an unreadable expression. “I’ll be up in a second,” he says and takes another drag from his cigarette before chucking the butt into the street. 

The turned-up collar starts to make more sense when Tony opens the door for him on the second floor.

“What the hell happened to your face?” 

Reece grimaces, then winces visibly. “Adam Jones paid me a visit.”

“Jesus Christ, Reece,” Tony exhales. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Reece says wryly. “I punched him back.”

Tony shakes his head in appalled resignation. 

“You want some ice on that?” he asks, heading to the kitchen and straight for the freezer without looking back. When he turns around, ice cube tray in his hands, Reece is standing by the kitchen table, staring at the screen of his tablet with an odd look on his face. 

“Zurich?” he asks, with unfamiliar uncertainty in his voice. 

Tony shrugs, not quite sure where to look. “I wasn’t sure if I’d need a bit of a break after all this.”

“Oh,” Reece makes, sounding lost. He drags a hand through his hair and doesn’t say anything else.

“You didn’t call today,” Tony says, trying not to make it sound as accusatory as he wants. He isn’t quite sure he succeeds.

“Yeah,” Reece replies, and rubs his forehead as if to will away an impending headache. 

“In my defense, I did get woken up by a madman challenging me to a duel over your honor at five in the morning.”

“My honor?” Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow. 

“I do think he was seriously worried about you,” Reece concedes, not quite looking Tony in the eye. “Though it probably says more about my history with him that he honestly seemed to believe that I have been leading you on since February for the sole purpose of breaking his lucky streak.”

Tony feels ice water dripping down his fingers, and he absent-mindedly drops the ice tray into the sink. 

“What did you tell him?” he asks carefully. 

Reese shrugs. “That not everything is about him.”

“Huh,” Tony says, feeling some of the weight being lifted from his chest. “That’s what I said.”

“That’s how you know he likes you,” Reece quips. “Because it doesn’t look like he punched you when you said it.”

Tony takes a deep breath. “Max said you used to have a crush on me,” he starts hesitantly.

“Back in Paris.”

Reece grimaces, but at least he’s finally looking at him again. “You should listen to Max,” he says. “He’s a lunatic, but he isn’t stupid.”

Tony stares. “So all this time, you …”

Reece lifts his hands. “It’s not like I was miserably pining for twenty years,” he says. “I did live with a sushi chef from Tokyo for three of them.” 

Tony blinks. “Sushi?”

“We were very discreet,” Reece says. “So discreet that eventually we forgot we were in a relationship. But yeah. I thought I was being pretty obvious. I even switched my day off for you.” 

“I was wondering about that,” Tony admits. 

“Jack wasn’t happy that he had to redo all the staff schedules on my account,” Reece says. “But he believes that you are a good influence, so he seemed to think it was worth it.”

Tony gapes incredulously. “You told Jack about us?”

“He’s running my restaurant,” Reece says, as if it’s obvious. “Of course I did.”

Tony’s heart is contracting in strange ways. “So is this why you were hanging out downstairs for an hour? You were worried that –“ He swallows. “That I didn’t feel the same way?”

Reece pulls up a shoulder and nods towards the tablet. “Apparently you _are_ leaving me for Switzerland.”

Tony finally allows himself to smile. 

“I am not leaving you for Switzerland,” he says firmly. “The property prices are ridiculous.”

Reece chokes out a laugh. “That’s good,” he says. 

“Yes,” Tony says, and kisses him. 

They are still in the kitchen making out when the doorbell rings half an hour later. 

Tony sighs and presses his forehead against Reece’s. 

“Probably the neighbor again.”

“It’s fine,” Reece says and shoves him gently into the direction of the hallway. “I’ll be making coffee.”

“I’m starting to wonder if I should be jealous of my coffeemaker,” Tony says over his shoulder and pulls the door open. 

It’s Adam, standing on the doormat with his hands jammed in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders pulled up to his ears.

“That looks painful,” Tony says. 

Adam reaches up to touch his split lip with his fingertips. “I’ve had worse,” he shrugs.

“I’m aware,” Tony says. “But I’m tired of getting you see hurt.”

Adam grimaces. “I did hit him first,” he admits. 

“I know,” Tony nods. “I’ve seen his face.”

Adam takes a step backwards. 

“So you’ve got company,” he says apprehensively. 

“Yeah,” Tony says, half-apologetically. “He’s making coffee right now, if you want some.”

“That’s alright,” Adam smiles ruefully. “We probably shouldn’t be in the same room right now. And I should get back to work, Helene won’t be happy if she has to run the show on her own for another night.”

He rubs a tired hand over his face. “I just wanted – you know.” He breaks off awkwardly. “Apologize.”

“I know,” Tony says honestly. “Me too.”

“Oh.” Adam looks genuinely surprised, as if that’s not what he expected to hear. “So we are good?”

“Well,” Tony lifts a shoulder. “We should probably talk. When my boyfriend is not waiting for me.” 

He tries not to laugh when Adam pulls a face at his use of the term. 

“But yes,” he smiles. “We are good.”

For the first time in over twenty years, he actually feels like it might be true.


End file.
